The Monster and the Angel
by BluesGirl
Summary: Red desperately tries to hold his world together, but as Elizabeth Keen becomes more and more involved, he can't prevent himself from doing everything in his power to protect her. A threat steadily grows, endangering Elizabeth, the Bureau, and everything Red holds dear. Giving this a try, trails off from the original storyline after Liz finds out about Tom. No Berlin.
1. Chapter 1

The knock resonated the empty room, muffled slightly by the books that were crammed along the shelves and stacked next to the couches. Raymond Reddington raised his eyebrows as he finished his sip of scotch and ran the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip before he set the glass on the worn mahogany table and stood, brushing off the legs of his trousers. The light was low from the dimming sunlight that shown through the musty windows and one or two desk lamps that were spread apart along the large apartment.

Red hid his surprise well when he saw Elizabeth Keen standing in his doorway, her arms crossed and eyes trained to the floor. Dembe had stepped a little farther down the hall, giving the two some privacy as he still kept watch.

"Hello, Lizzie."

His voice made her look up and she blinked. Red could see the puffiness of her eyes, the afterthought of tears.

Lizzie bit her lip, her eyebrows tilted upwards in uncertainty. Red noticed how blue they looked…_Easy to lose yourself in…_he mused, one corner of his mouth barely twitching with the thought. As if sensing Red's observations, Lizzie blinked and pushed back her emotion before finally murmuring, "You were right."

Red's eyebrows lifted and he put one hand on his hip, leaning against the door.

"About Tom," Elizabeth said, shaking her head and Red noticed how dark her hair looked in the dim light of the hall. "You were right…he…well, he's gone."

Reddington blinked, pursing his lips before standing aside, "Come in."

Lizzie's eyes flickered back down to the ground as she stepped past him, making a beeline to the sofa and sinking down into the soft cushions. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and running a hand through her dark hair, her eyes staring forward, unseeing.

Red closed the door and turned to her, watching from across the space. For the first time, she looked small to him. His eyebrows furrowed and the concern made him gently bite the inside of his cheek. Her jaw, which was once strong as she concentrated on her goal, as she chased what she wanted, was now slack with exhaustion. Dark bags cradled her eyes greedily, the makeup smudged and smeared. The sharp blue of her eyes had dulled and glazed in the dim lighting of the apartment.

"What happened?" Red finally asked, settling onto the couch away from her, giving Lizzie plenty of space.

Elizabeth Keen brought a hand to her face and hid behind it, fingers splayed across her forehead.

"You…Tom…he," the words didn't want to leave her. They were stuck in her throat and Lizzie clenched her jaw in frustration. She was starting to wonder why she had come here…she was actually going to go to Ressler's, but without realizing what was happening, she made her way here, knocked on Red's door. Why?

_Because he knew_, Elizabeth told herself, _because Reddington knew. _

"I saw a picture…the trash in the locker, it had a toy I'd given him yesterday morning to bring to his class. That's when I realized. Today, Tom had somehow found out that I knew something wasn't right. He must've gotten into my computer, or saw the pictures, or something. I don't know how." Her bitterness budded in small tears that made her eyes shine behind the cover of her hands.

" He was waiting for me when I got home. I tried to play it off… play the fool, but he could see right through me. Tom could always see right through me…."

Red could see the way Lizzie's shoulders shook and could hear the desperation on her breath. He knew this would've come, that Elizabeth would've found out, yet he was still not ready for it. In reality, the mere fact that she had come to _his_ doorstep surprised him. He had thought that surely he was not on her good side ever since he had insisted that Tom was a danger.

Elizabeth's hand flickered away from her face and Reddington could see the faint darkness of a bruise start to bloom across the side of her cheek. He couldn't help but cock his head and narrow his eyes as he studied it, his anger filling the silence between them.

His eyes felt like hot pokers on Elizabeth's skin.

"Could I get a drink?" she asked quietly, still not meeting his eyes.

"Of course."

Red stood and moved towards the liquor cabinet and took out a bottle of scotch. For a moment, he had considered uncorking some of the wine he had in the wine racks, but decided Elizabeth deserved something a little bit stronger. Pouring it in a tumbler and moving back to the couch, he handed it to her.

Lizzie looked up at him and met his eyes finally, taking the glass away from his hand. He could feel her fingertips press against his and he dared giving her a small, sympathetic smile. The blue eyes skittered away from his own and she took a drink, swallowing back the strength of the alcohol and feeling the edge wear off of her nerves.

"How badly did he hurt you?" Reddington asked, his voice a low, smoky murmur as he motioned to the side of Elizabeth's face, his mouth pressed into a tight line and his eyes darkening.

"That's it, he came after me when my back was turned, I didn't even know he was there," Lizzie said, waving her hand dismissively and sipping her drink. "I'm fine, I swear."

"Don't lie to me, Lizzie," Red warned, grabbing his own glass and refilling it.

"Excuse me?" Elizabeth responded, looking at his back, the way the satin of his dress vest looked glossy in the low light.

"I said don't lie to me," he repeated over the soft sound of scotch pouring.

"I'm not lying."

"Yes you are," Red retorted, settling back down on the couch and looking over at Lizzie, his chin raised slightly as he regarded her. "If you try to tell me your 'fine', you must think me a fool, Lizzie."

Keen sipped away her annoyance when he said her name. Red always did it so lowly, so effortlessly, like it was his only purpose in life, to say her name, to draw it out and taste it on his tongue.

She itched the scar on her hand.

"Alright. I'm not fine," she admitted, her pride crumbling away. "What would you expect? First my father dies…then Tom."

"I never expect anything from you," Red hummed, blinking.

Elizabeth looked at him, her fingers pressed against the cool glass of her tumbler. His voice echoed in her head. _Be careful of you husband, Lizzie…_. "How did you know about Tom?" She couldn't help the thin little cracks that traced her voice.

Red's eyes didn't blink as they trailed over her, looking at the shine left on her cheeks from the frustration of her tears. His thumb twitched as he thought about wiping them away, but he knew far better than to do so. The truth stung him behind his stoical face, made Red press his jaw tighter as he looked again at the bruise that dappled Elizabeth's high cheekbone.

"Lizzie, I promised not to lie to you…and I never will, but-"

He was brutally interrupted by her distrustful scoff. "Of course there's a 'but' in there," she spat, swirling her glass and swallowing the rest of her liquor in one swallow. "Why do I even ask? Why should I even expect to get the whole truth from you?" Lizzie got up and moved to the bottle of scotch, helping herself to another glass. She sipped from her tumbler with her back to Red, one arm wrapped around herself, shoulders slightly hunched.

"I feel like this is a game to you, Reddington. Like I'm just some pawn."

Lizzie's voice was so quiet and small, Red almost missed her words. Even though they were mere whispers, they clawed at his heart with a ferocity he feared. She had been angry with him before, called him a monster to his face, gazed up at him with disgust and shock in her eyes…but those did not compare to the sting he now felt from Lizzie's hurt.

Red tried to blink back the fear he felt, the fear of Lizzie pulling away from him.

"This is not a game," he said, his calm voice providing a steady visage to take cover, "and I will never use you. But I need you to trust me when I say that your answers need time."

Lizzie inhaled, shutting her eyes against the sound of his voice and trying to remember what her life was like, normal and happy before this criminal crashed into her life. The smell of the books found her, the dry scent of aged paper and dust. She heard her breathing and the steady slowing of her heartbeat.

"Where are you staying tonight?" Red quietly asked, sipping the rest of his drink and setting the empty tumbler on the coffee table. He leaned back on the worn leather sofa, his arms spread along the back and his legs crossed. His tone was light, hiding the real concern he felt looking at her.

"I don't know," she said, waving her hand, "The house is a mess, we really trashed it…stuff's broken everywhere…the dog got out, I have no idea where he is now."

The silence lulled between them and Reddington turned looked at the dusty windows, one eyebrow raised as he pressed his lips together, still tasting the scotch on his tongue. "You could stay here, you know."

"What?"

Red continued to look out the window, raising both eyebrows then as he spoke. "This apartment has three bedrooms, there's more than enough space for you here. I assure you, this place is safe. Dembe's outside, nothing can hurt you here."

Agent Keen's mouth hung slightly open, the shock of Red's suggestion momentarily stunning her. Stay here? With Raymond Reddington?

"Good lord, Lizzie, it's not like I'm asking you to share a bed with me," Reddington finally scoffed, standing and shaking his head, his hands on his hips and a smile playing with his mouth. He always seemed to be able to read her mind. "I'm just offering a perfectly good place to sleep, for tonight."

_And a place where I can make sure you're safe…_Red thought to himself. The idea of Tom running around unwatched unnerved him, set his teeth on edge.

"I have work in the morning," Lizzie said, glancing away at him, sputtering excuses.

"There's an alarm clock in one of the guest rooms."

She was quiet, crossing her arms before she looked back at the man in front of her, the criminal mastermind that was offering to be a host for the night.

"Lizzie…its two o'clock in the morning…you need sleep."

The low hum of his voice made her eyelids involuntarily droop with exhaustion. The day started to weigh against her, Tom's betrayal feeling like cinderblocks stacked against her spine. The apartment was large enough and she trusted Red enough to know that he would keep his distance. However, Lizzie still wasn't quite comfortable with the whole situation. However, did she have a choice? Where was she going to go?

Rolling her eyes and trying to fight back a yawn, Lizzie finally said, "Fine. But just for tonight."

"Of course.


	2. Chapter 2

2. The Morning

The sun was muted by the dusty windows as it shined into the guest room where Elizabeth was sleeping. The alarm she had set was cheeping brightly at her and she tiredly floundered for it, her eyes still closed and hair a mess. Lizzie ran a hand over her face and sniffed at the morning, flopping back down on the bed. Instinctively, she reached out across the bed, her hand searching for Tom's shoulder. When her fingertips only graced empty sheets, the memories of the night before sucked the air out of her lungs. With a tight chest, Elizabeth Keen looked around and realized she wasn't at home.

_Home is gone, _she thought bitterly, her eyes darkening as she snatched up her phone again, looking at the digital clock. 7:00 am. Text from Ressler.

_**Where are you?**_

Liz shook her head and closed her eyes, trying to figure out what to do next. The world lurched underneath her and she was thankful for the bed she was laying on, she didn't quite trust her knees. The needling thought that she was laying in Red's apartment certainly didn't help her nerves. If anyone at the Bureau found out where she was…

A knock ticked against the wood of her door.

"What?"

"I just wanted you to know that I sent Dembe over to your place to get some clothes," Red's smooth voice answered, "I figured you couldn't save the country in yesterday's business slacks."

Elizabeth clenched her eyes shut in the slight annoyance that followed Reddington's light tone.

"Can I come in or not?"

"Fine."

The knob turned and Red waltz inside the guest room, a light grey shirt with slate slacks and vest, along with a red tie at his neck fit his body in neat, well-tailored lines. Liz completely ignored the fact that she had slept the clothes she had worked in the day before, her pants wrinkled and shirt untucked.

Red couldn't help but notice how charming her mussed hair was.

He bit the inside of his cheek and pushed the thought away as he handed her a few hangers full of clothes.

"Did you move my whole closet?" Liz asked, standing from the bed and rolling her eyes.

"Granted, you are in need of a shopping trip, but no. We didn't take the entirety of your wardrobe," Red said, his lips tilted in a closed smile. He smelled like coffee and books.

"Wait, we? I thought you said Dembe went?" _Red was in my house…_

Reddington cocked his head and his smile grew, crinkling his eyes with sly little lines. "There's coffee and scones in the kitchen," he called over his shoulder after he turned and headed towards the door, "When you're done, I'll give you a ride to the agency. I actually need to speak with our dear friend Harold Cooper this fine morning."

* * *

The black Lincoln glided through the streets smoothly, Dembe calm and collected in the driver's seat, his thumb tapping against the leather of the steering wheel as he nodded his head with the quiet music that hummed from the radio.

Red was lounging comfortably in the back, his trademark smile tilting the corners of his mouth upwards as he looked out the window through the amber tinted lenses of his sunglasses.

"Beautiful day," he mused, turning and looking at Elizabeth. She had her hair twisted into a bun at the back of her head, dark bangs framing her face. The sun shone through the tinted windows and Reddington noticed how tired she looked. Agent Keen didn't register his words, just stared at the back of the passenger seat. Red glanced at the hands in her lap and thought back to the time in the park, where he sat next to her and wrapped his fingers around hers, pushing her fears away with a reassuring squeeze. The memory made his thumb twitch.

"Are you going to tell them?" he leaned toward her slightly when he spoke, crossing his arms.

"I don't see how I couldn't," Lizzie answered, shaking her head and bringing her fingers to rub at her temples. "Chances are they already know."

"Ah, the downfall of being a federal agent…privacy doesn't exist."

"Why didn't I see this coming?" Elizabeth asked, more to herself than to Red.

Reddington was silent. As much as she wanted to help her, he knew she needed this time to herself. Elizabeth wasn't a weak woman, far from it, and he knew if he pressed her, tried to comfort her, especially now, without her acceptance, she would pull away.

The car slowed down as they pulled up to the national federal building. Red got out and quickly moved to Liz's side, opening the black door of the Lincoln with his signature smile on his lips, the amber lenses of his sunglasses glinting in the morning light. Normally, Elizabeth would've rolled her eyes or snarked at him, but she didn't have the strength this morning.

Once the two made it past security, they stepped into the metal elevator and were brought up to the taskforce's level. Red took off his fedora, tucked it underneath his arm, and strolled past the lines of computers and analysts as if he owned the place. The heels of his expensive Italian shoes clicked against the tile and Liz followed him, her palms sweaty.

Silently, in the elevator, she had made a plan. Elizabeth would follow Red to Cooper's office, wait until they had a chance to speak in private, and then she would tell him all the information she had on Tom Keen. She would open up her house for searches, tests, whatever the taskforce needed to catch him. As much as she wanted to bring the bastard down herself, she couldn't deny the fact that she needed help.

Liz watched as Red strode into Cooper's office without so much as a knock. Cooper looked up from his desk, his dark brows furrowed harshly against the lines of his forehead. He took off his wire-rimmed reading glasses and leaned back in his big leather office chair, watching as Reddington settled down in the chair across the desk. Once Raymond Reddington was settled and smiling, Cooper's eyes flicked to Elizabeth. She could only shrug and shake her head.

"Alexander Knapp," Red finally said, crossing his legs and entwining his fingers in front of his knee. "Bosnia, 1993."

"What?" Cooper asked, leaning forward, his elbows on the glossy wood of his desk.

"There were a series of armored truck robberies in Bosnia during the winter of 1993 and the spring of 1994," Red recited, sniffing and removing his sunglasses and slipping them inside his jacket pocket. "The news played it off as an organized crime ring, Russian Mafia hidden behind the eastern European borders, but it was so much more than that."

"What do Bosnian robberies have to do with the FBI?" Cooper asked, cocking his head to the side.

Red's chuckle was sly, "I told you Harold, I'll be giving you names of people you didn't even know you wanted. Alexander Knapp is a notorious middleman. A smuggler. Whatever you have, he'll move it, for a momentous price. His specialty is human trafficking, women, children, any person in the world, he'll make disappear and reappear several hundred miles or a few countries away in only a few days."

"So what does this have to do with the Bosnian robberies?"

"Every great entrepreneur needs funding," Reddington mused, pursing his lips and cocking his head. "Knapp started out in the 90's, he needed money to get resources, training, people he trusted."

Cooper leaned back. "I understand he's a criminal…but unfortunately if we were to monitor every human trafficking ring all over the world…we'd have no time to do anything else."

"Oh, I understand that, Cooper," Raymond murmured. "But I really think you'd like to look into Knapp's. He's a master of moving people…from all over the world…and sending them wherever they want, or where their _owners _want them. There are many, _many_ groups who would _love_ to get into America's borders to cause some trouble."

"Terrorists?" Elizabeth asked, snapping out of her own personal thoughts and stepped closer to the desks.

Reddington chuckled, shaking his head and looking at Lizzie, his eyes bright as he saw her old self flash to the surface. "Oh, no, Lizzie. Much more than that. Terrorists want to cause fear. The type of people Knapp transports are only around to wreak havoc, take out the very pillars that governments are built on."

"What are you saying?" Cooper asked, his dark eyes flicking from Reddington to Liz.

"Harold Cooper, what got us out of the Great Depression?" Reddington asked, flicking a piece of fuzz off of his trousers. Their lack of an answer didn't faze him. "One of the best things that happened to this country's economy was World War II. We boomed. Business boomed."

Liz stared at Reddington, starting to connect the dots. "Knapp's people, they're going to start a war? Why?"

"What better way to fund your smuggling business than in wartime? People need guns, food, ammunition, perhaps even drugs, money and women. A time of chaos is a time of business."

"I can see why this is a threat…but why are you interested in him, Reddington?" Cooper asked, finally standing up and stepping behind his chair, grabbing his suit jacket from the coat rack and pulling it on.

Raymond answered while Cooper was doing up his buttons. "Wartime means bad commercial for me," his head cocked to the side, his fingers interlaced and brought up in front of his face. Liz couldn't help but watch the way his content smile made his eyes crinkle. She immediately spotted it as a defense. He was only giving them half the truth. "Let's just leave it at that."

"How many of his transports are in the country right now?" Cooper was growing more invested, his arms crossed. Liz could see the gold glint of her boss's watch.

"Oh, I'd say three or four, each one has nearly twenty men recruited beneath them. Criminals, hit men, counterfeiters. You better get going, Harold," Reddington quipped, wetting his lips with his tongue and working his jaw in the habitual way he usually did. "Knapp is notoriously efficient and he's had plenty years to grow his business."

"How do we stop him?"

"There's a nasty little weapons ring that operates outside of Baltimore. The last time I checked, Knapp uses them as a checkpoint for his eastern clients. Scrappy little guys."

"Do you have an address?"

"There's a fish market right on the edge of the water on the south side. Not the place where the tourists go, and not the place to head at night. There's an old man that works there, he's a Sicilian I believe. Big tattoo of a compass on his neck."

Cooper's eyes squinted with skeptical disbelief. "How is it you know all this?"

Red's smile returned as he regarded the man in the low light of the office. The dark walls muffled them, the stress of Reddington's information making Harold Cooper's brow furrow. Liz watched the two, leaning up against the wall, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, her mind spinning with ideas of Tom and the draw of a new case.

Standing and pulling on his jacket and walking towards the door. Liz watched him, meeting his eyes before he pulled out his sunglasses and slipped them on his face. "I'm telling you Harold…you're wasting some valuable time."

And with that, he turned and headed back through the way he came, back through computers and to the elevator.

"Where's the crook going?" came a new voice as Donald Ressler came up to Cooper's door. Liz clenched her jaw and straightened the way she was standing. Don had become more accommodating towards her over the last month or so, yet she still noticed the way his eyes glanced at her suspiciously whenever she was around Red. His hand was on his hip and Liz could see the butt of his gun as it settled in the holster. As Raymond waited for the elevator, Ressler turned to Elizabeth. "And where were you this morning?"

Elizabeth shook her head and thought up a lie, "Car trouble. Had to get a ride."

"With him?" Ressler asked, nodding his head towards Raymond.

Liz felt the creeping heat of embarrassment start to creep up her neck.

"Elizabeth, I want you to go with Reddington, see if you can get any leads on Knapp. Ressler, you stay here, I'll fill you in, go and grab Meera."

Cooper's interruption gave Elizabeth the split second she needed to build her walls back up. Flawlessly, her composure set her jaw straight and smothered out the fearful sparkle of her eyes. "Yes, sir," she said with a nod and brushed past Ressler, very much aware of his eyes as they followed her back.

"I was beginning to worry I'd have to ride by myself," Red's low voice hummed as she reached his side just as the doors of the elevator opened.

"Where are we even going?"

Red reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a sleek black phone. Red was aware of Lizzie's eyes as he tapped the keys, texting Dembe to pull the car around.

Raymond turned and made sure he held Elizabeth's gaze as he spoke to her. "I have rented out a storage locker. We're going back to your house, you can grab whatever you need."

The realization of what he had done for her made her stomach clench and her eyes darted over his face. A place for her to build a case against Tom, somewhere to try and fit the pieces together in privacy and away from the emotional wreck that was her home. The storage locker was a torch in the dark, the gravel bed of a rushing stream.

He was going to help her.

"Give me a few days to help you find him, Lizzie," Red murmured, as if reading her thoughts.

The elevator's gears creaked and hissed as they were lowered to the main floor. The two walked out to the front. Lizzie couldn't help but smile gratefully at Red. First he had offered a place to stay and now this? The idea of having someone to rely on, someone who was concerned about her, was intoxicating and for a moment Elizabeth Keen had forgotten that Reddington was a master criminal. In reality, she had known almost nothing about him, yet he always seemed to want to know everything about her. Sam had died and Tom had turned out to be a lie, yet so far, since the moment she had met him, Raymond Reddington had not broken her trust.

Dembe hadn't arrived yet and the cool spring breeze tickled Liz's hair. The year was still too early for the cherry blossoms of DC, but the sky was still blue and there was no grimy snow piling up in the gutters. Her breath didn't puff out with the whiteness of cold and the air didn't bite at her nose like the frosts of winter did.

"What's the real reason you want Knapp?" Liz suddenly asked, her head turning as the black Lincoln slid up to the curb.

Reddington muttered a breathy chuckle as he held the door open for her. He rattled off an address to Dembe and his friend nodded silently. After a few clicks of the blinker, the car easily merged out into traffic and started to wind its way throughout downtown DC.

"Now, to answer your question…while it's true that Alexander Knapp's success would be catastrophic to my own business deals, that's not the only reason." The way Red lounged in the back seat of a car made Liz wonder if he was born to do it. He was never uncomfortable around her, his shoulders were always relaxed, his jaw never clenched, his eyes never twitched.

"Alexander Knapp took advantage of my business," Red said and for a moment Liz watched as his eyes darkened, his mind traveling to somewhere far away. "I paid him a huge sum in order for him to ship something for me and instead he…broke our contract."

The pause did not go unnoticed by Elizabeth.

"Again you're not telling me everything."

Raymond sighed, looking at how blue her eyes are, how bright they shown when she was chasing some truth.

"Lizzie, believe me, you'll know everything you need to in time," Reddington said quietly, knowing full well that they were talking about more than just Alexander Knapp.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Hi Everybody! Sorry for the wait! My computer was actually broken and I needed to send it in to get it fixed. But here we are! Warning: Graphic chapter. **_

3. The Tapes

"Lizzie, are you going anytime soon?" Reddington asked, sniffing and placing his fedora on his head, his eyes tired. He interlaced his finger and leaned back in the cheap office chair, feeling his back creak in protest. Liz glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and noticed him work his jaw, blinking slowly.

"You don't have to stay."

The two had stayed in the storage locker all day and most of the night. A cheap desk clock blinked 12:45 and cartons of eaten takeout littering the plastic table in the corner. The stale smell of wontons and fried rice hung in the air and Reddington was getting slightly claustrophobic. He felt sorry for Dembe, who had been silently sitting outside for hours on end.

They had hung a large whiteboard on the end wall and Lizzie was standing in front of it, pictures scattered, connected by drawn lines and notes scrawled in spare areas of space, making the whole thing look like a jumbled spider's web. Liz's bun had grown messy, strands trailing away and framing her face like dark little whispers. Her blazer was tossed in the corner, the sleeves of her navy blouse rolled up to her elbows. Red watched as Elizabeth's bottom lip was constantly held between her white teeth and he admired how sharply her eyes shown, darting around the pictures, the gears in her head turning as she tried to connect the dots.

"You can go home if you want," Liz sighed, wiping at the strands that tickled her nose. "I'm fine here."

Reddington cocked his head. "You're going to stay at home?"

She faced him fully then. "Yeah." The solid line of her mouth and the way she looked at him did not warrant question.

"Alright, if you're sure…." Raymond wasn't one to lie to himself. He was willing to admit that he didn't like the idea of Lizzie being alone at the house. However, the way she held him in her gaze made him decide against offering his guest room for another night.

He pulled on his jacket and headed towards the door of the storage locker, the cement walls feeling as if they were starting to press against his shoulders. When Reddington's hand touched the cool metal of the doorknob, he turned.

"If you need anything, I'm only a phone call away, Lizzie."

His words warmed her, the deep huskiness making her momentarily forget what she was doing. Elizabeth keen was starting to notice the little changes about him. The way his chin dipped to his chest whenever his mind was wandering or the way his voice lowered a few octaves whenever he spoke with her in private. The words grew low and quiet, as if he was trying to keep them to just themselves, a little secret they shared.

Liz didn't smile, but her eyes were soft when they looked at him. Red couldn't help himself from staring for a moment longer, his lips curling into the small smile of contentment that he couldn't control. The spell was broken when she looked away and Red forced himself to leave.

"She's staying?" Dembe asked as soon as the doors of the black Lincoln shut.

"Apparently so," Reddington mused, Resting his elbow on the car door and running his thumb over his bottom lip.

The rest of the ride was silent.

The two didn't speak until they had made their way up to Reddington's door. The brass key flashed on the ring before Raymond hid it in the lock, the deadbolt sliding away with a click. Passing through the threshold, Reddington couldn't resist the gnawing anxiety at the back of his head.

"Dembe, would you actually go back and-"

"I'll park down the block and keep an eye on her," his friend answered, already knowing what his boss was going to ask.

Red's eyes crinkled with gratitude.

"Just keep the door locked," Dembe shouted over his shoulder as he made his way back down to the car.

Once the door was softly locked behind him, Red lit a few lamps, preferring the soft, warm light over the brightness of the ceiling bulbs. His fingers curled lazily around a crystal tumbler, the ice _clinking_ softly as he dropped them in with the delicate silver tongs. Reddington was always meticulously careful as he made his drinks. The step by step process that he always followed when he poured his scotch would calm him, such as routines always did. He would lose himself in the short time it took for the amber liquid to spill lazily over the clear ice and pool in the bottom of the glass, and by the time he finally settled down to actually take a sip, he felt like it was earned.

Technology irked him, but nonetheless, Raymond pulled out the thin black laptop from underneath the mahogany coffee table. Opening it up, the buttons glowed blue and the screen hummed to life with a little spinning light wheel. Red took another sip before he got up and went to his own bedroom. A small black safe sat nestled in the back corner of his closet, the keypad glowing a soft green in the dim light. The buttons beeped silently as he typed in the code. Inside was a little black cd case, along with a few fake passports, fancy watches, and worn photographs. He didn't have time for a trip down the shadowy memory lane tonight. He grabbed the cd case and made his way back out to the living room, already yearning for another sip of his drink.

The laptop had gone into sleep mode and Red swiped his fingers over the mouse pad and the screen flickered back to life. Carefully, the man unzipped the cd case and pulled out the top disk, its face shiny and reflective in the low light of the apartment. Slipping it into the computer, Red leaned back, his fingers closed around the cool glass of his tumbler, and sipped at the scotch.

The image that popped up was a medium quality shot of a kitchen.

Elizabeth Keen's kitchen.

Reddington spared a small little smile as he watched her walk in, her business slacks and blazer traded for a pair of washed and worn jeans, an old t-shirt draped over her upper half. Her hair was up in a ponytail and he watched as she swiped away her bangs before she pulled open the refrigerator. Raymond's eyes followed her fingers as they tapped the fridge door. As she rummaged around inside, Red looked at the glowing date in the corner of the screen. The video had been recorded a week ago.

Liz pulled out an onion, some mushrooms, two steaks packaged from the supermarket, greens for a salad, and a bottle of wine. Raymond huffed a chuckle as he watched her pour a glass, the wine a dark red, before she started cooking. The onions and mushrooms were sautéed in butter and garlic, the steaks put on a broiler pan and in the oven. Very simple meal, yet Reddington was entranced by the way Elizabeth Keen moved elegantly around her own kitchen. He couldn't draw his eyes away from her hand, gently cradling the wine glass, setting it down in order to stir this or toss that. The ponytail swayed with each movement of her head, dusting the base of her neck between her shoulder blades and Red briefly wondered what it would feel like to run his fingers through the dark strands or over the softness of her skin.

For a moment, Raymond Reddington allowed his eyes to flutter closed as he imagined the heavy smell of steak and mushrooms, tasting her wine on his tongue instead of the scotch.

Movement across the screen brought Red's attention back to the surveillance tapes. Tom had arrived home from work. Reddington's eyes darkened as he watched the snake move behind Lizzie and wrap his arms around her middle, resting his chin on her shoulder and murmuring in her ear. Reddington worked his jaw in agitation as he watched Liz turn in Tom's arms and playfully encircle her arms around his neck. The two kissed and Red slammed the screen of the laptop shut, probably with much more force than what was warranted.

He took a deep drink of his scotch, his throat bobbing in anger as he swallowed, the burn not bothering him in the least. Reddington idly traced his fingertips along the rim of the glass, feeling cool traces of the alcohol on his skin. Eyes stared into nothingness and he worked his jaw again as the man's mind wandered back to a memory.

_Six days previously_

"What the fuck are you doing here?" the man spat, little flecks of apple spewing from his mouth as he coughed and scrambled to stand.

There was a click and he was reminded that the black gun clutched in the shadow's hand was loaded.

"Sit back down," a low voice ordered, sinister and quiet like the deadly growl of a panther. "Grayson Moss, it's been a while."

"Reddington," Moss muttered, nodding and settling back down in the chair, his eyes wide and flicking around the dim room, trying desperately to find a distraction or escape route. His cellphone was sitting on the table opposite him, out of reach and useless. The sides of Moss's face glowed blue with the light of the five computer screens crowding for space on the table. The half-eaten apple had tumbled to the floor. The room was silent for a heartbeat or two before Raymond spoke again, the barrel of the gun still trained unforgivingly between Grayson Moss's eyes.

"I think it's been ten years. The last time I saw you, you were secretly transferring about $400,000 from one of my overseas accounts." Raymond chuckled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes and the sound was cold, "That was my Cayman Islands money."

There was an ear shattering crack and Moss screamed, cursing with everything he had as the bullet shattered his right knee. His hand clutched at the wound, blood pooling out and messing his hands, little white slivers of his devastated kneecap sticking to the fabric of his pants.

"Why are you watching her?" Raymond Reddington asked, cocking his head towards the screens, speaking loudly to be heard over Moss's screeches and cuss words.

"Fuck you!" Moss shouted, tears streaming down his face and his cheeks flushed red.

Reddington lowered the gun, his lips pressed in a thin, unamused line. Stepping forward, he lifted his foot and slammed his heel into Grayson's wound, only upset for a moment that the blood might stain the leather.

"I asked you a question, Grayson."

Moss doubled over in his chair, screaming again from the kick.

"He said his name was Tom! Keen, he hired us! Told us to set up cameras and watch!"

"Why?"

"I don't know! He told us to set them up two days after you turned yourself in. Paid for us to watch her every move, there are cameras everywhere. We were watching for you! You requested to speak with Elizabeth Keen, Tom, or whatever his name was, knew that you two would interact. He wanted cameras in case you were at the house!"

"How long have you been working for him?"

"Every day, 24 hours, we're always watching. I've seen everything." Moss's eyes were pressed shut against the pain. White dots sparked behind his eyes and he felt nauseous.

"Who does he work for? How many people work for you?" Reddington asked, the idea of this creep watching Elizabeth hungrily churning his stomach with the heaviness of anger.

"Fuck you!"

The crack of the gun and Greyson's foot was shot, eliciting another piercing screech. "God, Reddington, what the fuck is the matter with you! Tom Keen just knew about me from some bank robberies and heists that I'd pulled. He found me and my guys in San Antonio and paid for us to come here. I swear I don't know, please…stop this!"

Reddington remembered hearing about one of Grayson's jobs in south San Antonio. He and several of his partners burst into a bank and robbed as much as they could before locking the door with several pipe bombs inside. The man was sadistic, doing things for the thrill and for the money. Grayson Moss had always wanted to be one of the big players, and he believed that unmatchable violence would get him closer to the top. He had probably daydreamed as an assassin or professional criminal. In reality he was just a trigger-finger that was good with computers.

"How many disks are there?" Red demanded, flexing the fingers of his free hand and cocking his head to the side, his eyes glancing down to see Greyson's blood start to ooze thickly on the ground.

"I don't know, ten, fifteen? They're in the book there, the black book!" Grayson was paling, his hands shaking as they clutched at his knee.

Reddington snatched up the black cd book and slipped it into his pocket. He unplugged the standing hard drive of the computer and was satisfied when the screens went black. He then turned and shot the processor, the computer shattering in a flurry of sharp plastic and sparks. Reddington was frustrated, knowing that Grayson wasn't lying. It was obvious he had blindly accepted whatever job Tom Keen had offered if it had a large enough price tag. Moss had made his living by sneaking, laundering, smuggling, hacking, and killing. No doubt Moss saw the potential to climb the latter of crime, and he saw Tom Keen as an opportunity.

The phone on the far table started to buzz and vibrate. Reddington turned and picked it up, looking at the sleek screen as it lit up with caller ID. Raising his eyebrows, Red slid his thumb across the screen and silenced the phone.

Next the gun was pointed to Moss's forehead.

Red's lips pressed together harshly and Grayson didn't like how dark his pupils shown.

"Telemarketer," Reddington murmured.

The bullet pierced Grayson straight between the eyes. Red noticed that the apple had started to brown before the blood started to pool around it.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Hey guys, wanted to try my hand on some emotion in this chapt. Hope you like it! Reviews are always welcome! Once again, sorry for the wait!**_

4. Paper cuts

The ability for people to go by unnoticed in life is uncanny. People who don't want to be seen are masters of slipping through crowds without getting as much as a glance from those around them. A sandy-haired young man, barely out of his teens, was doing just that, walking past politicians, businessmen, and attorneys completely oblivious to anyone around them. Worn jeans and a faded sweatshirt might as well be a force field of invisibility in Washington D.C.

The cell in the young man's back pocket vibrated against the bench only minutes after he wandered around the Reflection pool and sat down.

"Schmidt," he said sharply after his thumb slid across the screen.

"Where are you?" the voice on the other end was soft, but low, curious with a sliver of lethality settled darkly underneath.

"Reflection pool," Schmidt answered, looking around through the tinted shades of his cheap sunglasses. He didn't see anyone around him that was also on their phone, so he allowed himself to relax a little. "What do you need?"

"There's a shipment coming in thirty-six hours. I need you to have a place for them."

Schmidt sniffed and leaned forward on the bench, his elbows on his knees. He thought briefly of his cramped apartment that sat above a pharmacy in Georgetown. He was paid well so the apartment was by no means cheap…just built for one. "How many?"

"Five."

The young man bit his tongue, the curse still bitter on his tongue.

"I wired $95,000 to your account this morning," the voice drawled with its lazy confidence, "buy or rent a loft. Say you're an artist renting for a gallery. Lie."

"But-"

"I didn't hire you for your honesty, Schmidt, nor did I hire you for you to argue," the voice barked, the soft lowness cracking. "I hired you to do exactly what I say. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir." The stubbornness of youth had not yet aged out of Schmidt. The stubbornness was tempting, but then again so was the idea of keeping his life.

"Good. Sebastian's coming tomorrow morning at 9:00. You are expected to call him with the new address before then."

And with that, Alexander Knapp hung up.

* * *

The two chopsticks hovered over the carton of chicken lo mein, their tips stained from the soy sauce Liz had drizzled over it. She was sitting cross-legged on the dusty floor of the storage locker, the pressed clothes of work traded for grey sweatpants and a sweater that slipped lazily from one shoulder. Liz's blue eyes squinted up at the spider's web of pictures and notes, her lips pursed in thought. Running her tongue along the inside of her lip, she set down the noodle box and picked up the one full of dumplings.

"I don't get it," she muttered, sighing as she stabbed a dumpling with her chopsticks, not even bothering to use them correctly.

There was the rustling of paper as Red folded it and glanced at her from his seat in the corner. It was the first thing she had said all that night. Ressler and a few other members of the team were getting prepped for Baltimore, so Liz had a light day at work, only using her profiler training to try and write up a file on Knapp, but she had come up empty handed. Cooper instructed her to go home and try and get more information from Red, but instead she had opted to spend some time in the storage locker.

"You should get a rug in here," Red mused, flipping the paper back up and scanning over the new scandal of some mayor. "I'm sure that cement must get uncomfortable."

Elizabeth ignored him.

She got up, and idly chewed on the tip of her chopstick as she studied the four passports that were pinned to the board. Tom's face was captured flawlessly on Russian, French, British, and American documents.

As she stood there, Reddington stole a glance over the paper and he couldn't help but follow the smooth line of her exposed shoulder as it gracefully arched up into her neck. For a moment, he let himself slip back and picture her in her own kitchen, sipping wine and sautéing onions, before he blinked and returned to the newspaper.

The silence around the two was comfortable.

"I want to know how she found us," Lizzie said after a while, pointing to the picture of the cherry headed Jolene. "I know she was working with Tom. How else could she have found us?"

Reddington glanced at the board…seeing the woman and feeling a pang of bitterness. He had made a mistake letting the cowboy follow her. She was more lethal than he had originally thought and his obsession with the Tom Keen had blinded him, preventing him from moving in the calculated way he usually did. Raymond made a mental pact to never act brashly again.

"I found her dead in Tom's hideout with her real travel papers. She was going somewhere," Liz said. "After he killed her, I'm assuming he had taken or burned all the photos of me, there were ashes found at the scene. Cooper and the FBI don't know she's connected to Tom yet."

"They don't know anything about Tom yet, Lizzie," Reddington quietly corrected, "No one knows about Tom yet." He cocked his head and gave her a small smile. "Except us."

Lizzie bit her lip, still studying the picture.

"She looks so familiar to me…."

Red sighed and stood, folding the paper and laying it down on the seat of his chair, his suit jacket draped across the back. "She's watched you before and you said she had contacted you before you found out about your husband."

The word stung.

"No, I mean she looks familiar from a long time ago," Liz said, glancing to him as she crossed her arms.

Red rocked on his heels and clasped his hands behind his back. He pursed his lips for a couple seconds before sighing and speaking. "I wish I could tell you how long they've been watching you, Lizzie"

She shook her head and Reddington watched as she brought her hand to her face and lightly held her knuckle between her teeth. Her nails were painted the dark maroon of wine and were glossy in the splotched light of the storage garage.

"I know you don't know," she said, sighing irritably and sitting back down on the concrete, her intensity deflated.

The dark brown of her hair shone and Red traced the plait of the lazy braid as it curved along the side of her head and met with a messy bun. His eyes caught the way the stray strands wisped like ghosts. The arch of her neck was graceful as she leaned forward and pressed her palms to her forehead.

"I don't even know where to start."

Reddington grudgingly looked at the dusty floor and thought for a moment about how expensive his trousers had been. However, the look of a frustrated Lizzie made him forget about the dust and his clothes.

"What are you good at, Lizzie?" Reddington murmured, settling down next to her and leaning backwards and supporting himself up with his hands. The argyle of his dress socks flashed into view when he crossed his lets at the ankle.

"What?" the woman asked, momentarily surprised by the question.

Raymond blinked his blue eyes behind his lightly tinted lenses, casting a sidelong glance. He felt the steadiness of her gaze. "Lizzie, you're a profiler. Profile him."

"Tom?"

"Yes."

"Jesus, Reddington…don't you think I've tried that? I know nothing about him!" Lizzie threw up her arms and shook her head. She was beyond frustrated, brought to the point of almost being numb because the hopelessness was so tempting.

"You know he's a liar."

Elizabeth Keen was quiet. Her eyes were dark and she couldn't help but think back to Tom. Her heart panged as she remembered all the little things. She remembered waking up next to him, his eyes bleary and tired like a child's, before he smiled at her and wrapped her up in a hug. The way his glasses made his eyes look half a size bigger. The way his voice dropped in pitch when his hands traveled up and down her body….

For a moment she'd forgotten how to breathe.

"He's narcissistic," Lizzie blurted without really realizing she had come to a conclusion. "He knows what he wants and believes there's nothing that could possibly stop him from getting it. He believed he was two steps ahead of me, had no idea that I could possibly believe he wasn't my husband."

Reddington listened quietly, not ignoring the way her bitterness sharpened her voice.

"Tom thought he was so much smarter than anyone else…that's why he was so vicious when I confronted him. The fury that he'd been beat was beyond comprehension. His confidence was his downfall."

Lizzie was quiet for a moment and she allowed the wheels in her head to turn. As she thought, she mindlessly leaned back and copied Red's pose, her arm brushing against the pressed fabric of his sleeve, their fingers inches apart. Elizabeth felt comfort in the brush of his shirt, realizing that so far in this mess, Reddington was still there, still a constant.

He could smell the coconut and vanilla of her shampoo.

"He didn't like that you were better than him," Elizabeth said. "When I had him tied up, he was talking about you, insulting you in front of me to try and build himself up. As calculated and careful as he his…his attitude is a weakness."

"I suppose that makes sense for the little brat," Red said, smiling at his own wit as he looked back at the board.

The soft sound of her chuckle warmed him. When it died away, Lizzie softly bit her lower lip, the arch of her eyebrows furrowing together.

"I don't think he'll go far. The fact that he failed is a draw in itself. He feels like he needs to redeem himself. Pick up where he left off, fix his reputation, build his ego."

Elizabeth felt oddly at peace after her profile. Even if it was way off, the fact that she had at least something to go off of gave her some hope. Just a sliver, but it was enough for her to dig her nails into and hold on. She wasn't about to let it go, not after all this.

"But I still don't know what it has to do with you."

"If you've been around as long as I have, Lizzie, you tend to make three enemies for every friend."

"No, it's more than that," she returned, not looking at him. "You're more than just an enemy…he needs you for something. Some kind of information or something you have. Or maybe for revenge, but much more than a business transaction gone bad."

Small little tendrils of panic started to build up in Reddington's stomach, reaching out through his arms and making his fingertips prickle. Her brilliance amazed him, her ability to read people as easily as one reads a book.

His silence made her stand up and Reddington couldn't help but look at the way her shoulder was bared. His mouth went dry and he imagined resting his chin there, the smell of her shampoo filling his nose. These little thoughts had started plaguing him more and more in the recent days. At first he had shook them from his head, but now he was finally giving in.

When he spoke, his voice was much lower than normal, the octaves dipping to a low register that clung to Elizabeth's ears.

"What are you doing?"

"Just looking through some papers."

She was standing in front of the desk, flipping through this and glancing over that. Red contented himself with sitting on the floor and watching her work, watching her think.

There was a curse and Elizabeth snatched her hand away. "Shit."

"What is it?"

"Damn paper cut," Lizzie said, grabbing at her index finger.

Reddington stood and walked over to the chair, taking the handkerchief from the front pocket. Walking back over to her, he reached out to her.

"Let me see."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, "It's just a paper cut."

He worked his jaw and raised his eyebrows, his hand still outreached.

Lizzie huffed and held out her bleeding finger. Red's hands were soft and warm when he wrapped her finger up in the handkerchief, squeezing it gently to keep some pressure on it. The sleeve of her sweater was pushed up to her elbow and Elizabeth wasn't meeting Red's eyes. He followed her gaze and couldn't help but clench his jaw when he realized she was staring at the mottled scar of her burn. She wasn't blinking and her eyes shone. Red knew it wasn't from the sting of the paper cut.

"Lizzie…"

She didn't respond, she'd shut down.

"Lizzie, you haven't allowed yourself to react since Tom left," Red murmured. "You can't hold it in forever."

His thumb on her wrist moved gently along her skin, trying to give her some kind of comfort.

"I should've listened to you, Red," she murmured. "You knew and I didn't listen…and then afterwards…you gave me a bed, you gave me a place to stay…and this place, you gave me this."

The quietness of her voice stung and, throwing caution to the wind, red pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her. His hand rested on the back of her head and gently brought her head to his shoulder, allowing her to silently cry into the fabric of his shirt. Her body shook, but Lizzie made no noise.

She was lost. Tom was a lie, her father was dead, there was a terrorist threat brewing in the United States, and the only thing that stayed the same in her life was a master criminal. But right now, Reddington's arms were warm and safe and the steadiness of his breathing calmed her as she cried.

"Lizzie, you're strong," was all he said, murmuring the words lowly in her ear and making her tighten her arms around his middle, clinging to him as the waves crashed over her, threatening to rip her away. He smelled like cigars and scotch, of leather and warmth and she couldn't help but shudder violently against him.

Reddington pressed his lips to her temple and ran his hand up and down her back, trying to coax the tears from her. As much as he wished it was a romantic gesture, he didn't allow his mind to think of the way her slight frame felt pressed against him, the soft push of her breasts against his chest and the way her smooth skin burned his lips.

But now he had to comfort her. Stuff those feelings away.

After a while her shaking subsided and Lizzie allowed herself to slightly loosen her arms from his middle, resting her hands on the side of his body, the wool of the front of his dress vest meeting the satin of the back underneath her palms. She sniffed once, then twice before she pulled away, wiping her eyes, embarrassed. Her cheeks grew rosy and she felt the heat of Red's concerned stare.

As much as she felt the need to mutter a quiet apology, Elizabeth knew she wasn't sorry for initiating the contact.

The silence hung between them and it was Red who spoke first.

"You're welcome to stay at the apartment as long as you want," his voice was low in her ears and she calmed.

Lizzie looked behind her, her eyes trailing along the massive spider web of photos and documents. "I'm pretty beat," she said, biting her lip and heading towards the side table and reaching for the lamp switch. "Could we maybe turn in for the night?"

Reddington gave her a small smile and headed to the chair, scooping up his jacket and putting it on with a flourish. "Of course."


	5. Chapter 5

_**Hey guys! Kind of a filler chapter, but necessary to keep the ball rolling. Hope you enjoy! Reviews are always appreciated :)**_

5. The Sicilian

The earpiece made the inside of Ressler's ear itch. The wool ball cap hid the technology out of site and, looking around, the agent hunched his shoulders and shoved his hands into the pocket of the old, dirty windbreaker he had on. The white adidas he wore were grunged to a dull brown and his jeans were nothing special.

Ressler couldn't help but crinkle his nose and squint against the brininess of the sea as he walked across the slick wood of the wharf. To his left were the fish stands, some closed up for the night, others still open, illuminated by bare bulbed lights that made the ice sparkle. Smoke from the vendors' cigarettes mingled with the cloud of their breath in the cool spring night. Two Portuguese men chattered to each other as they sat behind their fish, every now and then standing up to scoop more ice over their catch from earlier that evening.

Boats bobbed in their docks to Donald's right, the hatches shut tight and portholes dark. The nets hung dripping with sea water and green strands of seaweed were draped limply on the rope. The moon cast its fractured light over the gently lapping water as it undulated under the wood of the dock, meeting with the cement of the pier. He felt the weight of the gun on his hip and for a moment, he worried if it was noticeable. Once he remembered the baggy, cheap clothing he wore, Ressler cast the thought aside.

He couldn't risk looking up. Looming above the whole ramshackle was the walls of a sardine packaging company, the factory windows faded from use, but behind them, Ressler knew the steady eyes of several back up snipers watched his every move. Several other agents were sitting slumped in alleys, looking like wandering drunks while they were actually listening very carefully to Donald's breathing as the earpiece picked up all the sounds around him.

As he walked, he went over the plan.

Find the Sicilian, Orazio Santo, they had picked up his name through some searches …_big tattoo of a compass on his neck_, echoed Red's words in Don's head.

Donald was to play the part of the scum desperate for work in order to approach him. The second he got Santo out in the open, away from his stand and any weapons hidden beneath, Ressler would arrest him, the seven other hidden agents flooding the area as cover once the call was made.

_If it was even here and Red wasn't lying,_Don thought bitterly, his eyebrows furrowing with stubbornness. He trusted Reddington about as far as he could throw him. _Actually…maybe a little less than that._

Donald Ressler couldn't understand how in the world Agent Keen and Cooper were so quick to trust Raymond Reddington. Don had studied him for years, built cases, sat stooped over his profile and files late into the night. Ressler knew what went on in that man's head even better than Red himself, and yet the people back at the taskforce leapt on his every word like kids in a gossip ring. How the hell was Reddington even allowed to walk around without FBI surveillance 24/7? He waltzed in after years of being on the run, said some names, then waltzed back out, only to come and go as he pleased.

It irked Ressler to no end.

"On your right, black beard, 5'10", heavy build, matches description," came a quiet voice in Ressler's ear. One of his above eyes had caught sight of the man he was supposed to talk to. Glancing to the right, Ressler saw a man stooped over a blue plastic cooler, the rope of his fishing boat wrapped tightly around the wooden post that jutted up from the dock. A wool cap was pulled down over Santo's head, the blackness of straggled beard shot through with a few streaks of grey. Thick fingers were buried into the ice of the cooler, filling over a pile of anchovies and other small silver fish. He was wearing a worn red and black flannel jacket, corduroy pants, and tan work boots.

Ressler was relieved Orazio Santo was away from the few other fish stands, he had no idea about the people around him, watching him with only minor interest. Santos was out of earshot, so Ressler murmured very quietly, "Going in, making arrest."

"Affirmative. Cover advancing," was the answer.

Reaching for the gun on his hip, Don Ressler pulled it while walking quickly forward, his eyes down the sight as seven other agents emerged from the shadows, guns also drawn, several tactical rifles trained on Orazio from above.

"Orazio Santo, you're under arrest for illegal weapons trafficking and conspiracy," Ressler barked, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration as Santo turned abruptly, standing up so quickly the plastic cooler toppled over, scattering ice and fish down the dock.

Santo jerked to his right, as if to run, but Ressler bellowed at him so abruptly to stop, the man decided that to escape would only result in getting shot.

"Turn away from me and put your hands behind your back, palms facing upwards," Agent Ressler ordered, the barrel of his gun trained on the black and red fabric that covered Santo's chest. Santo was cooperative and, but the cover of his fellow agents, Don had a cold pair of handcuffs secured around his wrists. The faded black ink of the compass was noticeable behind Orazio's neck, the north arrow pointing upwards towards the wool of the hat.

"Come on, Santo…we have a few questions for you," Ressler muttered, taking hold of the Sicilian's arm and tugging him back the way they came.

* * *

"Lord, it's been years," Reddington mused, rocking back on his heels and clasping his hands behind his back. He blinked and narrowed his eyes as he watched through the one-way mirror as Ressler sat with his back to the glass, the hooded eyes of Orazio Santo gazing down at the metal of the desk, his hands cuffed to the metal bar that jetted out from the tabletop. "Last time I saw Santo he was pointing one of his guns between my eyes. Accused me of stealing one of his bottles of wine."

Cooper's strong brows furrowed and they looked like two caterpillars. "So you've done business with him?"

"Once. Dembe needed a few things, and Santo was the man to go to," Reddington answered flippantly, shifting his weight and spinning his fedora in his hand mindlessly. Elizabeth watched the motion, silent from her spot near the door.

"And you're positive he's working with Knapp?" Cooper asked, turning away from the two-way mirror and facing Raymond fully.

"Without question, Harold."

"So how do we get him to talk?"

"I don't believe that's my job," Red replied, checking a back molar with his tongue and blinking. "Seems like Donald's giving it the old college try."

"He's been in there for two hours now," Harold Cooper said, stepping back to the mirror.

Elizabeth watched as Ressler leaned forward across the table, pointing and seething, his words brought low. Reddington had provided them with a photograph of Alexander Knapp, and Ressler had it on the table directly in front of Orazio.

"You know who he is, I can see it in your eyes," Ressler growled, standing up and walking to the side of the table, looming over the hunched form of Santo. He stared at the tattoo, the ink faded and smudged, probably done badly in the first place. "Why protect him? He's just a business investment."

Santos finally looked up, his hooded eyes narrowed and his mouth twisted in a sneer. "I do not sell out my clients."

"So you do know Knapp?" Ressler badgered, slamming his hand down on the photograph. He ignored the way it made his palm sting.

Something flashed behind Orazio's eyes.

"Are you protecting him out of fear? Will he come after you? We can protect you, Santo."

"By throwing me in your jails?" Santo retorted, his spell of silence shattered. His voice was sharp, rough like gravel. "You don't think he has people in every institution across the United States? You'd have to kill me!"

"What did he mean? That he has people in the jails?" Elizabeth asked, saying something for the first time.

Red turned and glanced at her, liking the way her hair looked pulled back from her face in a ponytail.

"Rumor has it that Knapp has been smuggling people in for so long he has one or two working in every prison, making sure that old business deals and clients didn't turn sour, didn't betray him to any authorities."

"He operates with fear," Lizzie mused, watching Ressler continue to badger Santo and seeing how agitated the Sicilian was getting.

Reddington was watching her, savoring the light that shone in her eyes when she was getting inside someone's head. He watched as she left herself, floated through the glass, and started to dig through Orazio's thoughts, his mannerism's betraying him, the look of fear as easily read as a children's book.

"What are you thinking, Lizzie?" Reddington asked, dipping his head towards her. He stopped twirling his hat and held it still.

"Knapp operates under fear, that means that he must have the people or the resources to carry out specific warnings to keep his people loyal. He has a communication system, a networking tree in order to let others know about what he's capable of," her eyes narrowed as she worked out the puzzle, the clues starting to line up and her psychological training walking her through step by step. "To do this he needs techies. Hackers, networkers, IT guys."

She turned to Cooper, the glare of an idea apparent in her face. "Have them search Santo's house. Bring Aram with. Grab computers, phones, tablets, anything you can get. Don't leave the house with them; Santo could have a magnetic ring on one of the doors, a wireless security system that'll wipe the hard drive once it comes into contact with the computer. Look for encrypted emails or texts, they might be disguised as spam, maybe even viruses."

Cooper, very impressed with his agent, nodded and tapped on the glass gently with his knuckle. Hearing the noise, Ressler muttered one last thing to Santo under his breath before he left the table and slipped through the door.

"What?" Don asked, his eyes darting from Harold, to Red, then Lizzie. It was obvious the thrill of interrogation was affecting him, Lizzie noticed how his hand shook slightly.

"Lizzie was just able to gather some profiling information on Knapp. I'll fill you in, I want you leading the search on Santo's apartment. Are you good? Do you need some rest?" Agent Cooper asked.

"No, I'm fine," Ressler said, sniffing and putting his hands on his hips as the thrill wore off. "Just give me a cup of coffee and I'm good." Ressler then gave Cooper a nod and headed back out into the taskforce operating floor, the door clicking silently shut behind him. Lizzie turned and watched Orazio sit slumped in the chair, his eyes drilling into the stainless steel tabletop.

"Right. Agent Keen," Harold said, turning to Elizabeth. "I'm going to call you when Aram finds something useful." He glanced at Reddington, who smiled. "In the meantime-"

"Actually, Harold, I was wondering if I could borrow Mrs. Keen for the evening," Reddington, the _Mrs. _sounding more like a jeer than a word. Liz's eyes couldn't help but narrow. "You see I have a possible link with Knapp and I need a woman's assistance."

Cooper's eyes narrowed. He and Elizabeth interjected at the same time.

"What?"

Reddington blinked, "Was I unclear?"

"You mean we're spending the resources digging through some smuggler's computer when you already have an in with Knapp?" Cooper did not look amused at all. "Why wouldn't you tell us this before?"

"Harold Cooper, I do not tell you how to run this task force, you do not tell me how to operate outside of the law."

"I just don't understand why we had to go through all this trouble if you already had your foot in the door. Ressler could've been killed out there on those docks."

"Oh come on, Harold…you had a team of fifteen agents helping, including snipers. And besides, I figured you'd be thanking me, Orazio is quite the big wig in Knapp's operating system. He doesn't get weapons from just anyone," Raymond replied, his eyebrows raised. "And, if you were listening, I said I had a _**possible**_ link. I need Lizzie here to help me find that out." Reddington cocked his head to the side, his words a little bit lower than what he usually used when speaking with Harold Cooper.

At first, Cooper silent, yet the man's eyes were still dark as they watched the criminal clasp his hands behind his back.

"You'll have to ask her then," was the only thing Cooper could respond with before he turned and left the rooms, leaving Raymond and Agent Keen alone, save for Santo as he sat in the small interrogation room through he two-way mirror. She was not amused as she looked at the all-knowing little grin that lilted lazily on Raymond's lips.

"I'll pick you up at nine tonight. Wear something nice."


	6. Chapter 6

6. Navy Blue

Elizabeth Keen was seething when she got back in the car, Reddington closing the door after her and sauntering his way to get in on the other side. Dembe stole a glance at her in the rearview mirror before turning the key into the ignition. The second Red's door shut, the car pulled out into traffic.

"I'm excited for tonight," Red hummed, blatantly ignoring the way Lizzie's eyes were as hard as stone.

"Care to share where we're going or what we're doing?"

"Probably some dancing, there will be champagne," Reddington mused, finding something interesting to look at out the window. "I'll pick you up at eight. That should give you enough time."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. He was assuming she needed a full three hours.

"Fine. But the only reason I'm doing this is because you said we could get closer to Knapp, understand?" Lizzie warned, tilting her head towards Raymond for emphasis.

Red turned back towards her, his eyebrows raised. "Of course." His smile told Elizabeth that her words just went in one of his ears and straight out the other.

The rest of the car ride was in silence, but Elizabeth could hear Red's contentment humming around her like a cat's purr. Her own head spun, wrapped up in the nerves of tonight, as well as her annoyance and frustration. The dark reserve of anger was shoved down deep into her belly and she tried not to think of Tom in order to keep it there. The black car slid easily through the streets of D.C. and after a few more minutes, finally stopped in front of Elizabeth's townhome.

"Remember, 8:00," Red called right before the door slammed shut.

Elizabeth tossed her bag on the kitchen island and opened up the fridge. Inside, she pulled out the bottle of Riesling and poured herself a glass. The tartness of the wine calmed her and she allowed a sigh to escape her lips and her shoulders slumped. She kicked of her shoes and wiggled her toes on the hardwood. Bringing her glass with her, Liz climbed the stairs and padded down the hall, going straight for the bathroom. She continued to sip the wine as she drew a bath.

Ever since she was little, Elizabeth had drawn her baths too hot. The water was boarder-line scalding, flushing her skin red as she sighed against the steam. Sam used to scold her, told her she'd boil herself alive, yet she still continued to have the water as hot as she could stand it. The heat would seep through her muscles and down into her bones, wiping away the stress of the world. Lizzie dipped her head down into the hot water, feeling it swell around her ears and soak her hair. She'd hum to herself, the old blues songs that Sam used to listen to before the cancer took him. The sharp pang of grief made her stop humming. Condensation gathered on the outside of Liz's wine glass and she allowed herself to just sit in nothingness, her eyes closed and the water muting the world around her.

An hour passed and Elizabeth decided that she should get out and dry off. She needed enough time to get her hair dried and set in curlers before she would scrounge up something to wear. She had a black cocktail dress she had decided would work fine. Wrapping her hair and body up in two plush white towels, she opened the door and padded down the hall, back to her room.

"You have got to be kidding me…" Liz grumbled, standing shock still in her doorway. Unwrapping her hair and letting it fall over her shoulder, she rubbed a hand over her face and stared at her bed again.

There, draped across her cream comforter, was a dark, sleek dress the blue-black color of the night sky. She walked over, and held it up in her hands, the fabric was a smooth chiffon. Wrapped around the middle, as she looked closer, was lace, the same color as the rest of the dress so it blended in as a subtle touch. However that subtlety was outshined by three silver and rhinestone bands that created an over the shoulder sleeve and stretched across the back to connect to the fabric at the opposite hip. Most of Lizzie's back would be bared.

"Of course he bought me a dress," she muttered to herself, laying it back down on the bed and making her way over to the vanity. Once the set of curlers were plugged in, she set to work blow drying her dark brown hair. When her hair was set in the rollers, Liz started doing her makeup. She settled on a light dusky eye shadow and red lips, nothing too heavy, but bold all the same.

By the time she was ready to get dressed, she had about an hour to finish up her hair and get dressed. She'd found a silver pair of heels and her brown hair had curled around her face in big, lazy waves. She pinned half of her hair back with a silver clip. The dress fit perfectly and Elizabeth tried not to think about how accurate Reddington got the measurements.

Elizabeth allowed herself to turn in the mirror and admire the garment. Sure enough, most of her back was exposed, but the three strands of rhinestones that stretched from her shoulder across to her hip allowed the skin to be shown in a very sophisticated way. She looked at the clock. About ten more minutes and Red would be there.

She was just about to leave her room when she heard three short knocks downstairs and the door opening and closing.

"Lizzie?" he called.

"You're early!" she shouted down, quickly putting on two silver earrings.

Raymond allowed himself a smile as he walked into her home. He admired his reflection in the square mirror that hung on the hallway wall before he stepped into the kitchen. The heels of his shiny dress shoes clicked on the tiled floor. He was wearing a tux, fitted to his body with a black bow tie at his throat. His eyes darted about, picturing Elizabeth as he saw her in the tapes, sipping wine and cooking, staggering in to make coffee in the morning, or staying up late for a midnight snack.

Stairs creaked and Raymond moved out of the kitchen and into the foyer. Time seemed to slow down for him as he watched Elizabeth Keen carefully walk down her stairs, the skirt of her dress pulled up, revealing the smooth skin of her leg and a silver high heel. The dress hugged her in all the right ways, but not too much to make it distasteful, and he found himself actually enjoying it more than the red dress she had worn before when dealing with Madeline Pratt. He swallowed his awe as his eyes followed a stray curl as it spiraled down lazily and brushed the skin of her collarbone. Silver sparkled from her ears and his eyes met hers. She gave a smile and Reddington knew she was aware of how stunned he was. Little did he know that Lizzie was impressed as well.

Sure, she had seen him countless times in tailored suits, but there was something that rose up in her whenever she saw him in a tux. The bowtie was perfect against the pressed white of his collar and his broad shoulders looked strong in the black jacket. Her feet hovered on the last step and she stood there, blinking as Reddington looked up at her and she couldn't ignore the way they glanced about her face. The silence hung between them and Lizzie could actually feel her breath as it hitched in her throat.

_What is this…_she thought, wondering why she had suddenly grown very warm. She remembered the first time Reddington had showed up in a tux, back when they had only met for a few days. Then again when she had donned red in order to steal KGB secrets from Madeline Pratt. But this…this was different, and she couldn't place why.

Suddenly, Elizabeth Keen was aware of the fact that they were alone in her home.

Reddington's outstretched hand snapped her back to attention. "Should we go?" he murmured, his voice lower than he had expected it to be.

"Um, yeah," her words were awkward and she felt herself blush when her fingers met with the smooth skin of Red's palm. Inside, she chided herself. _Come on, Lizzie. Knock it off. This is Reddington…you're not going to the high school dance. Pull yourself together. _

He smelled like expensive cologne and Elizabeth had to do everything in her power not to blush again.

At the door, Raymond stepped aside to open it for her, following after with a hand at her back. She was then shockingly reminded how exposed she was when she felt the heat of Red's palm press against her. Once outside, Elizabeth noticed that he had swapped his usual black car for a limo of the same color. The night was uncharacteristically warm for the season, and she was grateful for it when Red opened the limousine door for her. Hitching up the navy skirt of her dress, Liz slid inside and the door shut behind her with a click. She watched turned and watch Reddington move around to the other side and get in. Dembe was settled in the front seat and Lizzie could see the lines of a pressed suit fit around his broad shoulders.

Silence lingered as the black limousine pulled away from Elizabeth's curb. Red's cologne filled the space around her and Elizabeth settled back into the seat, feeling the coolness of the rhinestones press against her back.

"My neighbors are probably going to ask me about the limo," she finally said, allowing herself to smile. Red noticed how white her teeth shone against the bright red lips. Her own perfume smelled like bright lilac and orchid, and she was unaware of how intoxicating it was to the man sitting next to her.

"Are you going to tell me where we're going?" Elizabeth asked, turning to Raymond, her dark eyebrows raised a bit skeptically. "And how did you manage to find this dress?"

"The dress was bought on a whim, I'd already seen you in black and red, I wanted to see what navy could do with you," he answered, giving her his trademark half-smile. "Glad to see I wasn't disappointed. You're a winter."

Elizabeth Keen answered with an eye roll. "You still didn't tell me where we were going."

"Patience Lizzie."

"Are we meeting someone there who knows Knapp? I need at least some kind of prep before we do this, Red."

"Trust me dear," the master criminal said reassuringly as he turned and gazed out the window. "All I need you to do is be yourself."

The party was in Atlantic City, on a roof.

But, before that, the limousine had taken them to a private hangar where a small jet was waiting for them on the tarmac. Red helped Elizabeth climb the stairs with a hand at her back and soon they were both settled in the seats coasting at a high altitude. A glass of champagne was cradled in her hand and Lizzie couldn't help by smile as the tartness popped and fizzed across her tongue.

Sixty minutes later, they had landed and a different limo was there to pick them up. Dembe was back in D.C, and Lizzie had never seen this chauffer before, but obviously Reddington knew him, in fact, they were on a first name basis.

"Take us to Carter's place, Alan."

"Of course, Ray."

"Carter?"

"I told you, patience Lizzie," Reddington murmured, giving her hand a playful pat.

A half hour later, the limo pulled to a stop outside a tall, sleek building, the windows tinted to shine a glossy black. A red carpet was laid to meet with the street, and several people with cameras were standing around, flashing the lights when Reddington got out and opened up her door for her.

"Oh my god, Reddington, what is this?" she muttered under her breath as she stepped out, suddenly very aware of how she looked in front of all those photographers.

"Say nothing and smile, you don't want a scowl for the cameras. Don't worry, Lizzie… no big magazines here, just some newspaper reporters," Reddington whispered, moving close to her, his hand on her waist as they made their way into the building.

Elizabeth could feel the heat of his palm seep through the dress. She was thankful once the cameras stopped flashing inside the building, her sight momentarily seeing the ghosts of white flashes left over. A man stood by the elevator and it slid silently up the many floors.

"Red, this is getting ridiculous," Lizzie grumbled, watching the meter on the elevator door slowly rise. "I'm about ready to go home."

Red _tsked_, and turned to her, overly aghast, his mouth open in protest. "Oh come on, Lizzie. Don't tell me you have a curfew." He smiled as she scowled, noticing how beautiful her frustration shone on her face. "Just trust me. We're almost there."

The elevator door slid open with a soft _ding_ and Elizabeth's breath hitched in her throat. There was a ball on the rooftop.

Plaster pillars were raised with support beams of little white lights strung out between

them. There was a long, narrow pool that reflected the lights like tiny fireflies through the water. At the head of the pool was a black, sleek bar, two bartenders behind it tossing shakers and giving the patrons smiles along with their martinis. Couples milled about, the women in gowns as decadent as Lizzie's own, or even more so. The men wore tux's. A seven person string orchestra was tucked back in the corner, the chirping notes of some kind of classical piece resonating over the crowd. Some couples danced a graceful waltz that melted with the music, while others mingled.

Before Elizabeth could take it all in, a glass of champagne was thrust into her hand. They wove their way through the crowd to get to the bar and she could feel the eyes on her as Red ordered a scotch. Once he got his drink, she watched as he clapped his hand on a man's back, smiling and talking before they embraced. Nervous flutters started low in her stomach as she watched Red nod in her direction and the man turned to look. He was older, about late fifties, with hair that was more gray than blonde. Sharp blue eyes pierced through her and when he smiled, his teeth were too white.

"Why, Ray, who did you say your friend was again?" the man asked, nearing her. Elizabeth felt Red's arm brush against hers as he by her side and she extended her hand, giving her best smile.

"I'm Elise."

The lie came easily to her and was said without hesitation.

"Elise, beautiful name," Reddington's friend said, taking her hand and kissing it. "I'm an old friend of Raymond here, the name's Carter."

She felt a warmth on her back and realized that Red had placed his hand there when he watched Carter press his lips to her skin.

"I don't believe he's told me about you," Elizabeth chimed, her tone the polite tenor of small talk.

Carter flashed his perfect teeth and sipped his vodka tonic. "Where'd this old bag managed to pick you up, dear? Don't tell me he submitted an ad." The man laughed at his own joke, and Liz could feel Red's arm tense up, his thumb tapping against her in mild annoyance.

"Oh, ye of little faith, Carter," Reddington smiled, cocking his head to the side. "Speaking of which, where's Agatha?"

"We filed for divorce last year," Carter said, rolling his eyes and stuffing his hand in the pocket of his tux, sipping his drink. For the first time since he introduced himself, Carter looked away from Elizabeth, turning his attention to Raymond. "Turns out she found out that some of my businesses trips were more for pleasure!"

Again those perfect teeth flashed and Liz politely laughed along with Red, but her skin was crawling with every passing second they were speaking. They continued to mingle, Carter's eyes never really leaving her for too long, and his jokes were just getting more and more distasteful. She had downed her champagne a little faster than she should've. A waiter passed by with some martinis and she scooped one up. It was a little on the dry side, but the two men spoke for a while longer and she managed to finish it with the disguise of grace.

The orchestra chirped up with something new and, thankfully, Red spoke up.

"I'm sorry, Carter, but would you mind if I take my lady for a dance?"

"Not at all! Go, sweep her off her feet, Ray!" Carter bolstered, downing the rest of his drink and waving his hand for them to go on. Relief flooded over Elizabeth as she gave him a goodbye smile before Reddington moved her towards the dance floor.

"You know I can't dance that well, Red," Elizabeth warned.

"Nonsense, Lizzie."

He placed one hand at her waist and the other wrapped around hers expertly. Her own fingers spread along his shoulder, and she couldn't help but feel the strength that was under the fabric. Raymond Reddington's movement were fluid, leading Elizabeth expertly around the dance floor, the other couples only blurs around them.

"Who was that man?" Elizabeth asked, realizing that she had been meeting Red's gaze for a moment too long.

"Carter? We'd done business with each other in the past. He's a fantastic counterfeiter, the best out there. This roof, as well as the top two floors, are his. He'll host these parties every now and then," Red answered, looking around.

"I don't really like him," Lizzie said, wrinkling her nose as they moved together.

"Neither do I," he paused to spin her, "But he likes you."

The gaze she shot him could've killed a lesser man. "I will not be a pawn here, Reddington."

He secretly hated it when she called him by his full last name. The banter was gone.

Throwing caution to the wind, Red pulled her closer to him, his hand moving from her hip to the smooth skin of her back. He felt a fire there and smiled at her, their eyes meeting. The music slowed and he leaned forward, his lips only inches from her ear. She could almost feel the rumble of his voice resonate from his chest.

"I won't be sharing you with anyone tonight, Lizzie."

A fire shot from her ear all the way down to her toes. For a moment, her mind went blank and Elizabeth suddenly forgot how to function. Before she knew what was happening, Reddington entwined his fingers with hers and lifted his head, his cheek barely touching the skin of her forehead as they danced on slowly. This close, his cologne was intoxicating.

Reddington was just as overwhelmed as Lizzie…he just hid it slightly better. He lost himself in the light cloud of her perfume and the smooth skin of her back. He could feel the warm puff of Elizabeth's breath and the way her fingers fit together so perfectly with his. Pride and protectiveness swelled his chest when Carter couldn't keep his eyes off of Elizabeth. And she was unaware of the way she leaned slightly into his side, but Red wasn't. These small little graces, these little contacts, kept Raymond patient. But, seeing her like this, in that dress, tonight, made her almost irresistible. He swallowed, trying to gain back his control. His head swam when he pulled her ever closer and she didn't pull away.

"How much longer do we have to do this?" she murmured.

"The meeting was already done, we can stay however long you'd like."

"That was it?"

Reddington chuckled. "All I had to do was build up some trust. Carter's into money laundering and counterfeiting, no doubt is he helping to fund Knapp. We used to be very close friends. Once I build up that friendship again, he'll trust me. It's all about appearances." Elizabeth's head swam, and she couldn't tell if it was from the close proximity of Reddington, or if it was from the alcohol.

The music faded and the orchestra stood up for a few minutes to stretch their legs and drink some water. Red and Lizzie broke apart, the spell between them breaking, and they applauded with the rest of the crowd. When Elizabeth finished, she turned and saw that Red's eyes were trained on her.

"What?" she asked, giving him a smile.

"I did a really good job with that dress," Raymond actually winked when he spoke.

"Oh, shut up," she said, giggling from the warmth of the alcohol.

_You're flirting with him_, the voice in the back of her head warned. _Be careful, Lizzie._

Before she could argue with herself, Red gently took a hold of her arm and steered her towards the elevator.

"I'm afraid of heights," Red mused, "Let's go for a walk on solid ground."

Liz followed, her arm entwined around his.

Down below, the streets were quiet. The two walked side by side, Elizabeth's arm still held by Reddington. The night around them was cool, cooler than back in D.C., and small little goose bumps rose up on her skin. The chirping of violins could barely be heard far above them, muted by the time it reached their ears.

"So all of this work for an hour party?" Agent Keen teased, glancing at Reddington from the corner of her eye.

"I told you, we just had to make contact."

"This dress couldn't have been cheap."

Ray pursed his lips as they walked, tapping his thumb against the skin of Liz's forearm, "It wasn't."

She couldn't help but smile her rose lips. "So you spent the money to dress me up, only to show me off for an hour?"

"Would you allow yourself to be shown off? A dress is a dress, Lizzie… it'd be wasted if the woman couldn't pull it off."

Elizabeth didn't speak.

"And besides…I could say I was just curious to see you wear it in general."

The quip was a huge gamble, but Raymond Reddington was used to taking risks.

A shiver ran down her spine, and Elizabeth Keen didn't know if it was from the cool night air or from Reddington's words. In response, Red shrugged off his tuxedo jacket and draped it around her shoulders. His scent clung to it and it made her eyelids flutter. Outstretching his arm, he shamelessly wrapped it around her shoulder, his fingers squeezing her shoulder gently.

"What are you doing?" she asked, the lightness of her drinks disappearing as rationality set in.

"I do believe that shivering mean's you're cold."

"But, this…this whole thing."

Reddington said nothing. Instead he tightened his arm around her, bringing her closer.

"I always miss seeing the stars," his voice was low as he mused. "That's the only thing I regret about living in the city." Lizzie turned and looked at him. His face was tilted up to the sky and his eyes shown with genuine melancholy. He worked his jaw in the ticking way he did and sighed.

"The sky back in Nebraska isn't big enough to hold the stars," Lizzie said, deciding to through her caution to the wind. "I used to bring blankets out in the yard and stare up at night. Sam used to sit with me sometimes... Once, he tried to teach me about their names, but I lost interest pretty quickly."

Red pictured a dark-haired little girl lying on her back, her wide blue eyes gazing up at the sparkling stars. He smiled. However…from the back of his head, a fractured memory came forward. A memory of a different girl, this one with hair that shone red-brown in the moonlight, running through the yard at night, trying to catch fireflies in a little mason jar.

_"I have a jar of stars. Look, dad!"_

_ "What are you going to do with them?"_

_ "Let them go in my room, have my own sky."_

"Red? Red? You alright?"

The world flashed back around him. "What?"

"Where'd you go? You were gone for a second there."

Red stopped walking, glancing around him, his eyes glazed. "I'm sorry, Lizzie, I was…thinking."

"You're crying." Liz stepped away from his arm and stood in front of him, her dark eyebrows stitched together in worry. "What's going on?"

Rubbing a hand on his cheek, Reddington realized that Liz was right, a small wet track streaked against his skin.

Without thinking, Lizzie reached up and placed her hands on his face, a little unsure at first, but then gaining confidence as she wiped the tears away. Instinctively, his hands went to her waist and the two lost themselves. She watched Red's eyes close and his jaw clenched underneath her palms. For once, it was Elizabeth's turn to be strong for him. She thought about their moment in the storage locker, when he held her and let her sob.

"What is it?"

Reddington couldn't bring himself to answer right away.

"Red…"

"Lizzie," he murmured, his voice cracked. He reached up and took her hands away from his face. He cradled them in his own, his thumbs trailing along her knuckles. "There are just some things you don't know…but they'll come out in time."

"I'm a grown woman, I'm not a kid," she responded, eyebrows furrowing again when she pulled her hands away and crossed her arms. He saw her there, the white light of nearby streetlamps making her hair shine and her eyes spark. His jacket was draped over her shoulders and Red couldn't believe how beautiful she was.

_You have no idea how aware of that I am, Lizzie…_

"Just give it time."

She shrugged, "If you insist. Are you sure you're ok, though?"

Her concern made Reddington's lips split into a grin. "Perfect. Now come on, it's getting late and there's a place on the boardwalk that sells amazing gelato."


End file.
